


Three Conversations Over Breakfast

by laleia



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laleia/pseuds/laleia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Emperor and Empress (or at least, one of the Empresses) of Cetaganda have three conversations over breakfast about a mutual acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Conversations Over Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Implied dubcon
> 
> Written for Катана сан's Winterfair prompt _Fletchir Giaja and a haut-lady keep track of Miles's career. Humor desired._ Sadly, although it started out as humor inside my head, it ended up coming out ... differently.

A month after she takes possession of the Star Creche as the newest Empress of Cetaganda, the Emperor summons her to breakfast. It is her first time alone with him (discounting the _ba_ who bring the food, of course), and it is a quiet, formal, stilted affair

“I haven’t heard much news from your pet Barrayaran in a while,” the Emperor says as he watches her over his coffee.

He always says that – “pet Barrayaran”, as if snatches of brief acquaintance mean she has any real _control_ over the little man. True, he’d had a bit of an infatuation, but Rian is well aware of how little the infatuation rates in comparison to the other forces that rule him – honor and loyalty and a desperate need to prove himself.

“He works as a courier, doesn’t he?” Rian responds. “Not much opportunity to stir up fuss when he is only delivering messages,” she says, as if she doesn’t have her own spies trying to find out just _what_ sort of messages he is delivering. If there is one thing she has learned from her brief acquaintance with Miles Vorkosigan, it is that he doesn’t bother with the mundane.

“I hope he’s not getting into trouble,” the Emperor says, and the topic turns to other things.

She barely touches her food.

\--

When Rian finally finishes designing her son, the Imperial prince(-to-be), there is a small celebration among the haut-ladies, an opportunity for them to come and critique her work in the guise of a dinner party. And of course, an opportunity for her to remind the other Empresses _who_ is first in seniority, despite being newest. That night, the Emperor accompanies her to bed, ostensibly to reward her diligent efforts and confer his approval. She sees it for what it is, however – a reminder that no matter her accomplishment, she is still _his_ and in this matter belongs to him.

Rian bites her tongue and remembers what Lisbet used to tell her about smiling and playing along, and she dutifully submits to her Celestial Master’s ministrations. After, she is surprised when he stays the night instead of returning to his own rooms.

In the morning, the _ba_ bring trays of fruit for breakfast, which Giaja evidently means to enjoy in bed with her. Rian recognizes that there is some other point he wishes to make, so she smiles and plays along.

She knows she is right when he smiles at her, a cold thing she recognizes for the mask that it is. “So it seems that the thorn in Our side who so recently disrupted prison proceedings on Dagoola IV … just so happens to be a _clone_ of your pet Barrayaran,” he says.

“Is that so,” Rian says coolly, as if her spies hadn’t delivered _just_ that same information almost two days ago.

“Two of your pet might be too much for any universe to handle,” Giaja observes.

“Then I suppose one of them shall have to die,” Rian says as she eats the fruit with her fingers. “I trust you are seeing to it?”

“Someone in my pay certainly is,” Giaja says coolly. “Though it seems that’s a matter easier said than done. I’m surprised they haven’t conquered the universe between them by now.”

“Perhaps if they ever stopped bickering long enough to cooperate, they would,” Rian shrugs, and then licks the juice from her fingers.

“Interesting genes he has,” Giaja says distractedly, watching her lips with studied concentration. Haut-lords are not _seduced_ , especially not by anything so vulgar as lips and fingers and tongues. No, it is poetry and philosophy and subtlety that appeal to haut sensibilities – and yet, sometimes even the haut are not completely unaffected by lips and fingers and tongues.

Rian cannot tell if he means his comment ironically or sincerely, and it no longer matters. As the trays of fruit clatter to the floor, Rian smiles to herself.

Giaja is not the only one who can make a point.

\--

“So it seems that your pet Barrayaran has been demoted from Admiral to Captain,” Fletchir says over breakfast.

“Well, it seems that he’s moving on, in any case,” Rian says, unconcerned. “He _has_ been promoted from Lord to Lord Auditor, after all.”

“I do hope he’s starting anew and doesn’t play on causing Us any more trouble,” Fletchir says grimly. “I would hate to take action. I know how much amusement he brings you.”

Rian is too well-bred to roll her eyes, but she is haut enough to convey the same sentiment simply in the way she sips her tea. “If you are so concerned,” she says, “perhaps a reminder is in order?”

“What are you suggesting?” Fletchir says, intrigued.

“I believe the Emperor’s wedding is coming up soon and will require some sort of diplomatic presence,” Rian says as she cuts her eggs. “Perhaps Pel? He knows her well enough, and she him.”

“And Benin too, I think, to underscore the message,” Fletchir muses.

“I think the two of them can manage a subtly-worded yet significantly-conveyed missive,” Rian says.

“That’s certainly an idea,” Fletchir says. “Though that message will take some time in sending – I’m given to understand the Barrayarans spend far longer than seems reasonable when they prepare to install a new Empress.”

Rian thinks back to her own installation, and cannot imagine why the Barrayarans would put on such a drawn-out pageant. “It’ll only be a year,” Rian shrugs. “And I doubt my … _pet Barrayaran_ will be able to get up to too much trouble in the meantime.”

Fletchir raises his eyebrows. “What is the saying? Ah, yes. _I_ wouldn’t bet Betan dollars.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, I don't think I possess the subtlety of mind to write the haut the way they ought to be written. Also, I have no idea what Cetagandans eat for breakfast.


End file.
